Love and Pancakes
by Cacoethic
Summary: How can you feel things for someone whose sole interaction with you has been nearly killing you and eating pancakes? TW: Rape
1. Fall

"You're one of those Type A people, aren't you?" my biology professor asks slyly as I approach his desk after class. I pretend to be embarrassed and nod, hearing a familiar hunger in his voice. I want to be unsure of his intentions, but men are awful at hiding them. Perhaps they aren't really trying. My professor certainly isn't, as he gives me a look up and down and smiles knowingly. "At the moment, I don't have any formal extra credit opportunities, but I hate to say no to a willing student. I could use some help in the lab, if you'd be interested in getting your hands dirty?" he ends with a wink. Looking at him makes me want to die. I smile back, well aware that my reputation has preceded me.

"No thank you, professor," my voice drips with venom. "I'm very busy. I hope you can find an assistant able to work with your schedule." His eyebrows raise in surprise, but his face remains composed. I turn tail and walk away, patting myself on the back internally. I'm somewhat surprised that he would act this early in the semester. Usually professors wait until they're sure I'll say yes before they invite me to "assist" them. Crushing them is always a good time though, so I won't complain. The classroom is empty and I feel powerful as I exit to the busy hallway, full of students heading home or possibly to the cafeteria. Blending into the crowd is my specialty, my hobby: I pop in my earphones and coast along. The campus is less busy for night classes, but once 10 rolls around it bursts into life again. I take primarily night classes so I can work during the day to pay my ridiculous tuition. However, saving money means that most other aspects of my life are patently unglamorous. We were never rich, but at least in high school I was able to afford nice clothes. Now I buy my heels from bargain bins, and getting hand-me-down dresses is not all too uncommon. Not to mention my current residence, which is the definition of _unsavoury_.

I'm sighing again as I push through the crowd onto the bus. I pray for a seat, but of course I'm left standing up. I pretend not to notice the man seated near me checking me out. Men really do repulse me, but they can be useful sometimes. I shrug off their advances, until I need them. Sex is just an exchange if you think about it, trading a part of yourself for companionship and someone to keep you warm. I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the bus window and feel perfectly lewd for thinking about sex on the bus, but I guess it comes with the territory. It's certainly not the first time I've been checked out while trying to get home. At least no one yells things at me when I'm on the bus.

I pull the cord for my stop, leaning over the man whose gaze is now firmly planted on my chest. I'm almost ashamed at the charge I get, despising this man's attention but feeding off it all the same. It's the same with my professor, in a way. My sex appeal is my source of power, giving me leverage over men who I control with a flick of my long blonde hair. I doubt I'll ever get a bad grade in his class, not that grades are much of a concern to me. My mind is brimming over with confidence due to my victory of the day as I walk along the sparsely lit sidewalk to my apartment. The walk isn't long, but I have my house keys out and between my knuckles as a necessary precaution. My mother's been asking when I'll move somewhere else, but she's certainly not willing to fork over more money to make it possible.

As I'm walking I hear shouting ahead, and instinctively reach for my phone. The colour rushes to my cheeks and I can feel my hand shaking but I'm a good girl, so I head straight toward the noise with 911 pushed into my phone. My hand hovers over the CALL button as I grow closer to the source of the noise. Of course it's the dark alley right next to my apartment. It's only natural that terrible things would be happening at 10 pm on a Wednesday night, right next to my place of residence. I almost sigh and stop myself but my body is too tense, so I press onwards. There's a street light in front of my building that sheds some light into the alley, and I can make out at least three people, who are all focused on something beneath them. Forgetting my phone, afraid I am witnessing a rape or murder, I scream "Get out of here!" The three figures pause for a moment and one jerks their body in my direction. I realize I'm an idiot at this moment and take a pre-emptive step back, cursing my heels.

"I called the police already," I yell at them, but my voice is shaking. My legs are quaking as the other two turn completely around. I can see now they were on top of a smaller figure. My words seem to do the trick, as after a moment's hesitation they regain momentum and run in the opposite direction. Remembering my phone, I finally let out a large sigh and close it. I really am a moron, but it's not really something I ever forget.

The figure in the alleyway stirs. "Don't move!" I call as I run towards it. Ignoring me, the person begins to rise and I realize they're about my height. I'm closer; it's a man. "Are you okay?" I ask, timidly, still several feet away and somewhat afraid to go closer. He says nothing, standing up to his full height and stretching. The streetlight lights up his face, allowing me to see his stunning green eyes and hair red like (or maybe with?) dried blood. He walks towards me a little crookedly, as if daring me to step back. I hold my ground and allow him to get about a foot away from me before he speaks.

"Thanks," he barks at me in a voice raspy with disuse before promptly crumpling to the ground. Unsure of what to do but unwilling to do nothing, I poke him a bit before taking his arm and putting it over my shoulder. He's surprisingly light for someone my size, but heavy enough to make me thank god I work out. I lug his unconscious form to my apartment entrance, all at once grateful and upset that there is no doorman. The front desk attendant doesn't even look at me as I enter. Sliding past him silently, I make my way towards the elevator. Sneaking around in my apartment building is incredibly easy. Normally this would piss me off, but now I feel relieved. Upon entering my apartment and setting the unconscious man down on my bed, I realize I have made a mistake.

I'm majoring in kinesiology, not pre-med like my genius friend Sakura. I can give him some nice stretches to relax, but I sure as hell can't fix internal bleeding. I can only hope there is no internal bleeding to begin with. Beginning to panic, I switch on the lights and allow myself to examine the figure breathing shallowly on my bed. He's got a cut on his collarbone: not very deep, but leaking blood onto his black sweatshirt. _At least it won't stain_, I joke to myself. When did my sense of humor get so morbid? I'm realizing I need to undress him and my brain goes into overdrive. I have undressed a lot of men in my life, but never while they were unconscious and possibly half-dead.

I prop him up against the wall behind my bed so he (hopefully) won't bleed onto my pristine pink sheets. Peeling off his sweatshirt is fairly easy, and also doesn't really count as stripping him so my conscience is clear. Underneath the black sweatshirt is… a black shirt. Charming. At least he can coordinate, I mentally note as my eyes shift to the black jeans clinging to his hips. He seems much smaller without the sweatshirt, and I feel like a predator. The boy (man?) can't be much younger than my barely 21 years, but he feels small beneath me. This must be how it feels to be a man, ready to devour an innocent young woman. Shaking the thought from my head, I remove his black shirt and am greeted by white flesh marred by wounds.

The sight sends me physically backwards, and I nearly trip over my shoes trying to back away. It takes a full minute for me to process what I've seen and begin to move closer once again. Most of the wounds are old, in various stages of age. Yellow bruises, dark purple bruises, something that looks like a knife wound? I'm alarmed but admittedly my interest has been piqued. None of the wounds look particularly fresh, and I surge with pride that I likely stopped them before it got too bad. Replacing his shirt on his body awkwardly, I grab some tissues from the living room-slash-kitchen and blot at the blood near his neck. Most of it has already dried, saving me the trouble.

I only have one bed. My apartment is fairly small, if I'm being honest. The front door opens up to the living room, which is sparsely furnished and connected to the kitchen. There's a bathroom to the left and my bedroom to the right. I have a queen bed but it feels wrong to share a bed with an (unconscious) stranger. Covering him timidly with a sheet, I exit the room leaving the door open and light off. I take up residence on the couch, glad that tomorrow is my day off. I've said it before, but this is definitely not the first time I've taken a stranger to my home. It's different this time, though, and I feel slightly uneasy as I drift off to sleep.

I wake up with a pressure on my throat, my eyes popping open to meet a cold gaze. "Who are you?" the man whispers threateningly at me. I have a knife pressed down on my throat and I've been awake for less than 20 seconds. Tears spring to my eyes and the pressure decreases, then comes back again quickly. "I'm fucking serious. What do you want from me?" he's saying, but I can barely hear over the sound of my heart thumping in my ears.

"I helped you!" I manage to gasp out despite the fear of moving my mouth to speak. He's sitting on top of me and I can feel him flinch at these words. Finally the pressure is removed, and he stands up to tower over me instead. Moving slowly in an attempt to avoid startling him, I sit up and scoot myself into a corner of the couch, making myself as small as possible as he contemplates my fate. "This is my apartment," I break the silence between us. He gives me a bemused look and puts the knife back into his pocket. The tension in my body releases immediately and he turns away from me.

"I need food," he states plainly, before heading directly to my kitchen. I want to stop him because I also need food, and don't want a stranger raiding my fridge. But feeling a knife on my throat is an experience I hope to never have again so I keep quiet and trail behind him, rubbing my neck. I sit at the table and watch him as he pulls items out of my pantry, pulls a face, and puts them back. Finally he settles on the box of poptarts I keep solely for other people to eat. He rips open the package unceremoniously and devours both of them in seconds. Regaining my confidence, I smirk at him.

"Those will fill you up but they aren't very nutritious so you'll just get hungry again," I scold him. He puts eating on hold to stare at me. His eyebrows are raised, and he seems more bewildered than pissed off.

"So?" he retorts, turning away from me and heading to the fridge for more food. I walk over to the fridge door and place my hand on top of it. He tenses and puts his hand to the pocket with the knife, startling me.

"Let me make you something," I sputter quickly, not eager to be attacked. He sizes me up and steps back, giving me permission to access my own fridge. I crouch down and take stock. "Do you like pancakes?" I ask calmly, looking up at him. He shrugs. "Pancakes it is," I nod to myself and take out the milk and eggs.

Making food while you're being watched is awkward. He doesn't offer to help but he also stays far out of my way. As I pour the batter into my well-used frying pan, I can sense him getting antsy behind me. I guess he hasn't eaten in a while. Maybe that's why he passed out last night.

A few minutes later I'm eating pancakes in my small kitchen with a stranger who sort of tried to kill me. Things are pretty tense, and this dude is not really big on conversation. I hate silence more than anything, so I begin to overflow.

"My name is Ino," I tell him between bites. He looks up from wolfing down his pancakes to nod at me. "What's yours?" I ask impatiently, since he obviously wouldn't offer it up for free.

"Doeshn't madder," he replies with his mouth full. Cocky bastard. I feel my temper rise up, and I lean towards him in a way I hope is intimidating.

"I carried you into my apartment and let you sleep in my bed. I let you eat my morning-after poptarts. I made you pancakes for fuck's sake. What is your god damn name?" He definitely isn't intimidated, but he does swallow and look up at me with a smirk.

"Morning-after poptarts?" He's laughing at me and I am pissed off. I stand up, pushing back in my chair and storming past him to the bathroom. I don't have to use it but I need to decompress and I cannot do it in the presence of that _guy_. I lock the door even though it's doubtful he will stop eating long enough to try and come in. It just feels safer that way. Minutes pass. I wish I'd brought my phone in here. I sort of want him to check up on me. I want an apology. Men don't treat me like that. This whole morning has been a disaster and I probably should have just called 911 and left his body in the- I hear a light knock on the door.

"Gaara," he announces quietly. I sit completely still, willing myself into the floorboards. He doesn't try to open the door, but I do hear him lean against it. "My name is Gaara," he repeats himself, firmer this time. I'm not sure how to respond so I remain silent and motionless.

"Are you going to kill me if I open the door?" I finally ask, although I'm not really worried he will. He laughs in response, and I feel my skin crawl.

"Probably not," he whispers, and I'm not sure if I was meant to hear that. The silence returns. After waiting a few minutes, I unlock and open the door expecting him to be gone. Instead I am greeted immediately by his face. I struggle to hide my surprise but he notices and a smile graces his thin lips.

"Listen," my voice is wavering but I want to be strong, I will myself to be tough. "We need to set some ground rules. This is my apartment. I thought I was saving your life last night. I cleaned up your damn wound. I took off you-" I stop myself here. He notices.

"You took off my what?" he bristles. I cover my mouth, feeling my face turn bright red. Shaking my head is not a satisfactory answer for him, but thankfully he makes no move to fix it.

"I didn't see anything," I try to say hastily, but the words all merge together and come out of me like a jumbled mess. I try again. "Why were those people beating you up?" I can hear myself asking, surprised that these words are coming from me. Gaara seems surprised too, because his eyes widen the smallest amount. I expect a snotty answer, but get a sincere one instead.

"My dad wants to kill me," he states placidly, as though this information bores him. My reaction is more subdued than I would have guessed, but I have spent the past hour fearing for my life. The idea that this man is steps away from being a homicide victim is not exactly surprising. But the word "dad" hits me in the gut, and I'm sure he sees me wince. He makes no indication that he'll continue, and instead wanders back to the table where I see he has completely cleaned his plate. Once again I follow him carefully, like a hunter stalking prey. Staring at the plate idly, he looks up with a start when I sit down across from him. It's almost as if he forgot I was here, a visitor in my own house. I clear my throat calmly, used to his antics and pleased that this surprise didn't result in the knife coming out again.

"What's your uh, plan from here?" I ask timidly, losing my usual confident edge. He slowly brings his eyes to meet mine, searching me for answers I cannot possibly give. An awkward silence sets in, and I open my mouth to fill it. Before I can speak, he rises from the table.

"Thank you for the food, Ino," he meets my eyes again as he speaks. I feel his gratitude- for someone so stoic, his emotions are surprisingly easy to read. "I'll get out of your hair now," he grins crookedly at me. I feel frozen in place, and am cursed to stay seated as he disappears from my view and I hear the front door slam. Once he is gone, the apartment feels empty again. I feel the emptiness poised to swallow me whole, and all at once I am in motion again.

I clean the kitchen. I wash my sheets. I find his hoodie on my floor. I wash it, carefully fold it and finally set it down on top of my dresser, as if he will come back for it. As if he'd come back at all. I take a cab to a nicer part of town, to a nicer bar, where I will meet a nicer boy to fill my void.


	2. Winter

Brief A/N: I initially (mistakenly) classified this as a GaaSaku pairing. This is GaaIno! Please forgive me!

* * *

December is in full swing when I see him next. I put off returning home for winter break as long as possible, enjoying the lifestyle I've forged for myself in college a little too much. At home I am flirty Ino, bossy Ino, maybe even cute Ino- but definitely not sexy Ino. The boys I grew up with and pined after didn't pay me much attention until I grew breasts, and by then I was practically fed up with them. Having guy friends was nice, but having sex friends is infinitely better. I feel like I used to be ashamed of one night stands, but now I can see them for what they are: fun. I'm young and hot, now is my time in the sun. I capitalize on these things more than other girls my age, but I also don't care. I could be like Sakura, studying even after the semester has ended with medical school in my sights. But studying is really not my thing: I think I've made it abundantly clear what is.

I worked a double shift and didn't get off until 9 PM, so coming home feels incredibly nice. I haven't moved apartments, but I also feel much safer at my current place now. I haven't walked in on any fights in the past three months, at least. I reach my apartment feeling drained and ready to pass out, but I manage a shower before collapsing onto the couch. I flip on the TV to fill up the horrible silence surrounding me and drift off before I can figure out what show is playing. The sound of a door closing startles me awake, and in my bleary-eyed confusion, all I can see is red. There's no movement, so I rub my eyes and allow his figure to come into focus.

He's bleeding again. I sigh affectionately at this, but catch myself and try to be angry. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?" I demand of him. I always lock my door. Nothing but a shrug in response. He walks past me on the couch and goes straight to the kitchen. "Are you serious?" I call after him, but he won't be stopped. "Let me clean you up a bit first," I sigh, getting to my feet slowly as I shake off sleep.

Gaara is already in my fridge when I come back from the bathroom with some tissues, disinfectant, and bandaids. I approach him slowly but he seems completely absorbed in his search, allowing me to kneel next to him with no reaction. I wipe the cut on his forehead down and dab some antiseptic on my finger before warning him, "this will hurt a bit, ok?" He nods absentmindedly but remains unaffected as I rub it on his cut. I'm pressing the bandaid down when he suddenly finds what he's looking for and stands up. He's holding a carton of eggs and some milk in his hands, with a crumpled bandaid on his forehead and an eye that seems to be swelling more as each minute passes.

"Pancakes," he hands me the ingredients delicately, and I accept them before setting them down on the counter. I want to ask why he is in my apartment at whatever ungodly hour it is, why he is bloody and bruised, and why of all the things I can make, he wants pancakes. But instead I touch his cheek softly and pretend not to see him flinch when I turn to get a mixing bowl.

I watch him eat pancakes in silence. He's lucky I'm not eating this time, so he gets the whole batch to himself. I feel like I'm in a dream, watching him eat. It's only at this moment that I realize I have missed him immensely in the past three months. I'm almost glad the realization took me this long, because it's incredibly fucked up to miss someone you hardly know. How can you feel things for someone whose sole interaction with you has been nearly killing you and eating pancakes? I guess it isn't surprising that I have developed an attachment to the only man who's visited my apartment more than once.

"Whash sho funny?" he asks me mid-bite, not bothering to swallow. I realize I have a weird smile on my face and quickly revert back to my resting bitch face.

"Just tired," I yawn. "I was asleep, you know?" It's his turn to smile now. His smile is so bright, it catches me by surprise. In front of me sits the most genuine man I've ever met, or at least it feels that way. I hear his fork hit the plate and a jolt of longing shoots through me. He stands up and starts to walk away again, and I can feel my stomach drop. This time I have the leg strength and presence of mind to follow him, but he's not headed for the door. Instead, he casually walks into my bedroom. Confused and a little alarmed, I follow from a safe distance. I reach the couch as he emerges, pulling his sweatshirt over his head.

"It's getting cold out there," he tells me, as though I don't know. He passes me quickly. "Thanks for keeping this safe," he calls back to me, hand on the door. I sit back on the couch and will myself to move, to say something.

"You could stay," I whisper weakly. The door slams behind him in response. I wonder if he even heard.


	3. Spring

"Ino!" a high-pitched voice calls out my name and I search the crowd for a familiar face. My eyes fall on the identical buns perched atop Tenten's head, and I stop moving to let her reach me. Her eyes are bright and she seems excited about something. I'd rather walk away, but it's impossible now; she knows I've seen her. Spring has only just begun, and although it's nighttime I can't pretend I'm too cold to wait for her.

"Hey!" she calls out brightly, finally reaching me. We move back from the sidewalk in front of the bus stop to talk. "I know you don't like going out as much anymore," she begins. I'm already working on how to get out of this one. "But listen, this new club opened up and we all know Hinata won't go with me. C'mon," she's begging, seeing the look of resistance in my eyes. "Please?" I let out a colossal sigh in response, but she doesn't give up. The bus is about to turn the corner towards us and I step away from Tenten, pulling out my bus pass. Feeling guilty, I turn back to face her briefly.

"Text me the address," I call back to her. I can see her face brighten immediately under the streetlight by the bus stop. "But I'm not staying long," I shoot her an annoyed look, but she's already run off.

It's been awhile since I went out on a Friday night. I'm in the second semester of the third year, so classes have been more challenging. But mostly it doesn't feel the same anymore. I haven't seen Gaara in months now, but that's not abnormal I suppose. I feel pathetic for pining after a guy I barely know, but in the months since December I've come to terms with it. He is attractive, for one. He's mysterious, which I guess I like. It makes me want to learn everything about him. Dwelling on these thoughts definitely worsens my mood, so I shower and get dressed before checking my phone. Tenten texted me the address almost immediately after our conversation. She certainly is excited. It's 10:45 now, and she wants to meet there at 11:30. I have time to doll myself up a bit, so I do.

Wearing makeup is fun and exciting. I've been opting for a more plain face at work and at school, mostly because I'm lazy. I haven't had a good lay in months now, which is so completely unlike me. I guess I'm not putting in the effort because I don't want anything from guys anymore. It's not like my sex drive has gone down or anything, my standards have just risen astronomically high. If a guy hits on me, he's almost definitely not going home with me. I'm sighing into my eyeshadow at these thoughts. My entire being has been consumed by Gaara. I wonder if he remembers my name. He remembered where I lived. I'm angrily applying my reddest lipstick in the hopes that someone at the club doesn't entirely repulse me.

My cab arrives outside the club at 11:27 exactly. Tenten is nowhere to be seen, so I sit along the wall impatiently. Clubs on opening night are fun if you're drunk, but I am incredibly sober and in a horribly bad mood. A drunk guy walks out to hit on me and I glare daggers at him. Poor, unsuspecting soul.

"Come here often?" he starts laughing at his own joke and I move further down the wall. He follows me, which comes as a surprise to absolutely no one. Unfortunately I have now put myself out of sight of the bouncer at the entrance now. "C'mon cutie, don't you want to have some fun?" he's leaning into me now, and I push him off before storming towards the entrance. Have drunk guys always been this awful? It feels a lot more lighthearted and fun when I'm wasted, too.

I let out a sigh of relief when I see Tenten waving at me from the entrance. As soon as I reach her she starts gushing about how her friend is the bartender and maybe we can get some free booze. I'm rolling my eyes internally but try to listen good-naturedly. She acts as though I've ever paid for alcohol.

We get inside easily and Tenten clings to my side. Unsure of how to act in this unfamiliar setting, I head straight to the bar and set up camp. Tenten greets her friend excitedly, a black-haired boy who seems reserved and somewhat overwhelmed. So much for free drinks. I look to my left down the bar and catch a boy with short brown hair checking me out. He shoots me a wink. Bold. We're only a few seats away, so I lean in and put on my nicest smile.

"What are you drinking?" he asks, leaning in to get as close to me as possible. I flutter my eyelashes a bit and pretend to contemplate the question.

"A long island iced tea would be great," I croon. He looks a bit taken aback but motions for the bartender and I go back to ignoring him until my drink is ready. Not wanting to bother her friend, Tenten quickly switches her focus back to me. We aren't the closest of friends, but I have been out with her on several occasions. She doesn't seem like she's judging me, and I couldn't care less what she does, so we make a nice pair. Tenten is ranting about some television show she's gotten super into when my drink arrives. I stop her for a moment and turn to my left, shooting a smile and a wave at the guy who paid for it. He smiles back, but I can see it leave his face when I turn away once more. Guys are so incredibly annoying. I hope he doesn't think I'm going to sleep with him for a single drink.

I finish my drink with impressive speed as Tenten talks at me. It feels nice to listen, to be surrounded by noise instead of the silence of my apartment. I feel warm as the alcohol spreads throughout my body. It's been awhile since I last drank, and I'm surprised how quickly the feeling sets in. It's a glorious numbness that I forgot could exist. Tenten's words begin to mix in with the music, and I realize I'm drinking a second iced tea before I feel a hand on my back. I turn to face the guy way too fast and feel myself getting a little dizzy. The benefactor of my drunkenness is leaning over me.

"Hey," he whispers to me, low and slow. "Do you want to get out of here?" I look at Tenten, who's got a sly smile on her face. She knows who I am. She was ready for me to leave soon anyway, I'm guessing. Time has passed and things have slowed down a bit, giving her more time with her bartender friend. She gives me a pat on the back and winks, conveying that she'll be just fine without me. I don't bother answering the guy but do stand up and lean into him as he guides me outside. He asks me my address and hails a cab, not bothering to keep his hands to himself in the backseat.

My vision is blurring and I feel a little trapped inside the cab. The lights of the city are twinkling and I'm trying to feel the universe surrounding me while ignoring the hand on my thigh. When we arrive at my apartment I feel relieved and charge ahead, stumbling only slightly as I make my way inside. I almost completely forget about the guy I'm supposed to be going home with when I feel his breath on my neck as I reach the front entrance. I'm feeling strange. I don't want this to happen, but my body surges forward. We're in the elevator. He's kissing my neck. I can feel my palms sweating. I'm stuck in my head. I haven't said a word to this man since I told him my address. Does he know my name? I don't know his name, and I don't really want to.

We get off the elevator at my floor and I reach the entrance. If I pretend I locked myself out, will he leave? Unlikely. I would just end up at his place then, which has significantly less opportunities for escape. My mouth moves to form the words, but I can't seem to say anything. He's looking at me impatiently, hungrily, ready to pounce once I open my door. I stop looking for my keys in my purse and steady myself on the door while working up the courage and processing power to speak.

"I changed my mind," I state plainly to him. His eyes open wide and I almost expect him to accept this, until he doesn't. He leans against me and starts kissing me, wordlessly. Maybe he thinks he can change my mind. I feel like I'm falling but my legs are holding me up all the same. He tries the handle of the door and we are inside my apartment. I feel a thought forming in the back of my head. I definitely locked my door, I am thinking. I don't leave the apartment without locking up. Instead of saying these things, I force out a "no," but he is already removing my top. The door closes behind us.

"Hey, hey," he whispers to me soothingly. "I've seen you around," he's so close I can feel the moisture in his breath. "I know how you are. You like to have fun. Don't worry," he reassures me. He's kissing me while unhooking my bra. I feel like a fish. He's depositing my body on the couch and I'm watching it all happen. "I like to have fun too," he leans over me.

"No," I say louder. This time he really hears me; my voice catches him off-guard for a moment. The pleasant but eerie smile on his face melts to reveal his anger. He places his mouth over mine to shut me up but I feel the anger inside of me now, too. I bring my head forward to head-butt him and he jolts backwards from the force of the blow. I'm sure I'll feel it later, but right now I am invincible.

"What the fuck?" he's yelling at me, and I can see him come closer but I have lost all control of my limbs. I let out a strangled yell and try to will my body to move before he can reach me. My bedroom door bursts open behind me, and time slows. All at once there is noise on either side of me. Gaara is screaming profanities and my attacker is putting his hands up. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend!" he's yelling, and I wonder if that's what matters most. My consent certainly isn't important, but my so-called boyfriend's is. I want to throw up. Instead I roll off the couch and onto the floor, hearing the thud but not feeling it.

I don't see what happens but at some point the stranger is gone and Gaara remains. I can't peel myself off of the floor so I lie there. It's probably better this way, considering I'm completely exposed up top. I can feel Gaara standing at the doorway just a few feet away. I wonder if he's going to leave. I wonder when it got so hard to keep my eyes open, and suddenly my thoughts are quiet.

When I wake up I don't recognize my surroundings. Panic is slow to set in, but once it does it's nearly lethal. My heart is racing and I start to grasp around, my fingers searching for something concrete. My right hand catches something warm and soft. I gasp. The figure next to me shoots up.

"Are you okay?" a man's voice asks me urgently. Gaara comes into focus. I stare at him wordlessly. He seems reassured by my lack of response. Unsure how to react to waking up in the same bed with Gaara, I lie back down silently. Time passes slowly, but I know Gaara is not asleep next to me. I couldn't possibly go back to sleep either. My head is pounding.

"If you don't mind, uh," I'm fumbling with my words. "Why-?" I can't think of the right question to ask, so I leave it at that. Maybe he can fill in the blanks for me. Gaara is facing away from me and I feel very small. I'm wearing a skirt and an oversized nightshirt- interesting combination.

"You kept throwing up," Gaara mumbles at me. "I was just staying in here with you so you didn't choke to death on vomit." Romantic. Suddenly the details of the night before come flooding back to me and my face flushes. I realize that I did not dress myself in this nightshirt.

"Did you, uh, did you dress me?" I ask in disbelief. He's still refusing to look at me, which is for the better. I am most likely a shade of red more intense than his hair at this moment.

"I didn't see anything," he tells me through gritted teeth. I remember saying the exact same words to him, half a year ago in the entrance to my bathroom. The thought makes me smile despite my embarrassment. As far as things go, having Gaara see me shirtless is probably the least of my worries. I stretch out and roll out of bed, my head still throbbing dully. I don't have the worst hangover ever, but I certainly do feel like shit. I mull over all of the guys I've slept with in the past year. If I'd said no, would they have stopped? Maybe some. The thought makes me sick.

I check to make sure Gaara's still facing away, and then trade out my skirt for some more comfortable shorts. Not wanting to disturb him, I walk out of the room silently and head to the kitchen. I think we both could benefit from some pancakes.


End file.
